Canto: Circle of Anarchy
by RebelRising
Summary: The Pilgrim is led by two famous dictators, and learns the true meaning of revolution and disobedience.


Nicholas Huzsvai

Canto

_In the latter levels of the Infernal enterprise, the Pilgrim and his two guides descend the slope that separates the Sins of the Mind from the Sins of the Hand into Circle Thirteen, in which inhabit the Anarchists, whose sole condemnation was of a people to incompatibility. The shades are punished with indulgence in the activities that damned them in the first place; they tear down mountains from which fruit and greenery flourishes and attempt to rebuild them themselves, unaware of their ineffectiveness. The Pilgrim climbs down the slope to the bottom, where they continue down the only clear road around. As he looks around to observe the surroundings, including the guardian of the circle, the Norse god of Mischief Loki. They finally encounter the two spear-headers of the Russian Revolution, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin and Leon Trotsky, who are immediately recognized by Stalin. Lenin tries to recruit the Pilgrim into their destruction of the Mountains, appealing to his desire for finality. With little ushering, the Pilgrim rejects the nature of the rebels' habitude. With the newfound realization of how he needs his guides they proceed to leave the land of revolution behind them._

Now along a thin and unsafe crevasse,

My comrades and I declined on a plain,

Flat but for a scattering of mountains.

They towered tall with purpose and power.

Where blood trickled down the sides of the heights,

There grew rich orchards, strong oaks and sweet willows.

I turned to point out the sight, magnificent

To the Great Leader, stern and watchful.

Handing crotchety Creon a seeing glass

With which to look upon the strange landscape,

They both observed, one with cold indifference

And the royal crone with ill humor.

Confused and awed, I ran down an escarpment

The two dead leaders followed fast after,

With the stately Leader helping the wizened King.

Further down the valley we saw quite clear,

Pitch black chasms of dread and depth, delusion too,

From which there were scarlet stains and horrid stench.

Along the edges there were sprawling crags and juts,

Shaped by the fierce brutality with which,

Those shades tore down those grand old mountains,

And tried their hand at rebuilding these mountains,

Though such endeavors were pathetic in that,

All that came up were measly mounds of rubble.

And weaving through and about the dead and tortured,

Was Loki, that deadly mischief-maker,

Shouting and gesturing wildly in the hordes.

Awed and horrified at all the same time,

I slowed my pace down the ledge so steep,

My escorts came to my side and took my hand

And they led me down a friendlier path,

One that brought us to a ravaged highway,

Straight down the scape of toil and screams.

I no longer withheld and with inquisition,

I asked: "Who and wherefore are these strange souls,

So lost of tempered hearts and with smoldering blindness?"

My stern Stalin answered, not without disdain:

"The ones punished for their fatal disloyalty,

Who were resplendent in their insolence.

But were destitute in humility,

And faith in those who knew the safe way,

So would they not heed us and thus fall like flies.

They are like sons who abandon their father,

And fraternize with men of poor influence,

For such company leads them to destroy,

All that held them dear, held tight, but held dear,

With discipline, that son hates you more,

And hides no wish to ensure misplaced revenge."

Creon, that humbled yet passionate King,

Hobbled to my side, took me be the waist,

And lifted a livid finger into the mobs.

"They, my son, are all that is wrong in the world,

For they care not for the security

Of the place that they once called their home.

The father commands the problem of the house,

Not the one who feels for the subordinate,

And acts against what benefits the people;

They are the Destructors of Dynasties,

They are the Slaughterers of Cities

And the wretched Killers of Kingdoms;

They have great insight into destruction

But not construction; they shall topple an empire,

And all that will be left is death and ruin.

They are guided by misplaced justice,

More dreadfully, by pride without service,

They will destroy that mountain so high.

It will do naught but crush them like the ants

They do so very much resemble there,

See, for yourself, the individuals."

They walked with purpose down the highway,

That winded around the bright giants of stone,

I followed quickly at their heels.

"Who,' I asked, 'is that snake-like man yonder?

Conjures he does, the spirit of this place

With professional gusto and humor."

Stalin answered gracefully: He, my brother,

Is Loki of the Giants and of the Aesir,

Swallowed whole by his mischievous ways.

He betrayed his own two sets of kin always,

Yet blood and blood took him back time and time again,

Only that bloody End could cull his treason."

I observed the ratty scoundrel they described,

A thin beard did little to tarnish

His slimy smirk, his darting eyes that one.

His sarcastic words seeped into the ears

Of every shade he whispered to; incite

Rebellion he would, jumping with glee.

Creon spoke: "He watches over the sore land.

But not as leader, for all are Kings here,

As they are all piteous servants too.

He is as much a dastard shade here

As any other scoundrel that resides

In this realm of anarchists and rebels."

I nodded, in somber comprehension,

And inquired of my guides the way through this circle,

To which the frowning Creon answered contritely:

"There is naught but the straight path we stand on.

To stray would be a sorrowful misjudgment

For only the path we choose for you,

Impart the security of advancement.

Walk with us and be safe with us, our son,

Wherever else, it will try to steal you away."

With that cryptic assurance, we resumed

Our trek, now walking down a road, lonely

But for those few who wandered close and quiet,

Before again straying off, dazed and excited,

And dejected once more for sheer lostness.

These shades were both fearful and pathetic.

And wallowed in the midst of all this,

I noted upon the position of three suns

Towered over the cold, dry landscape.

In the idle morn, Dissent rises over,

Shining fury in their passive faces

And simmering for immediate tribute,

The the mid-noon beckons for bloodshed as

The burning Revolution hangs high o'er,

Together, they, the selfish and the meek.

And when the fires of irrationality

Cool and darken near the other mountains,

Desolation sets over a crimson land.

As we had come upon the midway point

Of the seemingly unending route,

I and my comrades picked up the echo,

Of passing shades who, out of want for an ear,

Or that grass on the other side, neared us.

They were calling us out with a fervor.

Again, I asked: "Who are those dour shades,

With effervescent frowns and hostile eyes;

Their committed stride now matches our own."

"Have no fear, loyal one, there are but shades,

These ones being of particular rancor,

Naught but those Bolshevik Imps, vexatious.

On the left is old Vladimir Lenin,

The Ravager of the great Romonovs,

And Herald of German fortune, vile ones;

Forever he is now destined to walk

The length of this valley, never looking back,

Only to return to that undone hill of his."

He extended his arm out to the other shade,

A man of equal sternness, if not more,

He walked with purpose ahead of Lenin.

"He is fierce Trotsky," proclaimed Stalin.

That one Semitic Schemer there who

Charged forth with bloodthirsty vigor.

You will see, if you are of observance,

That his spectacles, his lens are obscured

By the blood of noble Cossacks and Church.

They may be your friends, but never are they we,

Your guardians, who gain from your compliance,

And you from our guiding fist; have no doubts."

With Stalin's diplomatic words in mind,

I held out my hand to greet the Shades,

But they acknowledged only my face.

"_Previet_, said the bald man who was Lenin,

"What journey is yours that makes this road yours,

If it is, in fact, your own journey?"

"I have been given a road I see

Afore me, my eyes grant me no other road,

So this must be the good road I must walk."

Creon and Stalin turned to each other,

And exchanged approving gestures.

I, their young protégé, had responded well.

"You are blind to the other road, servant."

Lenin continued: "That is the road,

Your 'benefactors' have bestowed to you,

One that ends at the gates of oppression

There you will see the plight of the worker

At the hands of those you call 'Protectors.'

Paradise is not wherever those two

Shall endeavor to spirit you to, man,

Their Heaven is far higher than your own

Our reality is the dream of all-men,

And the hardships we have endured

Are veiled by the slippery tongues of they,

Who proclaim to fund the ever sparse fortunes

Of our labour, that blood of the human soul

That threatens the comfort of capitalists.

Their power shines like the suns yea above,

It rises and we welcome its light, for

Hope from simmering pits, of profit they glimpse.

Then when the comforts of society stays,

They will not hesitate to blind you with light

So that they bend to the rays of their will.

Finally, the darkness looms over them

Shrouding them in blackness they cannot see,

For their blindness still yields that same brightness."

Trotsky pushed his glasses up and spoke plain.

Glaring silently amid the yells and spit,

That swam the length of the accursed circle.

"Do not be of the disenfranchised sir,

Here, we are each a cog of the machine,

A gear that moves our rightful freedom forward."

I looked back at my guides in questioning,

My glances fazed them little more than smoke.

Stalin shrugged, and grasped my shoulder so tight.

"Look around you, say what you see.

Step out of the eyes of the illusional

And know where Paradise ends, my friend."

I know what my weathered eyes revealed,

And to recount the despair of those shades

Who toiled for an impressionable mountain,

Is a heavy burden for a heavy heart,

My senses are overpowered by the stench

Of sweat exhausted for naught but more sweat.

Sweet is a pain that comes from trekking a broad

A shaken tundra as this was for me

And the comrades-those shields for my heart.

"My deepest sincerity towards thee,

But your Utopia breeds seething pits

Of wandering and self-indulgence in such

A lost ideal in the sovereignty

Of an impressionable people that desire

Lasting comfort from that which sows labor

Upon labor atop a mass that is

Educated by traitors who are keenly

Frustrated by a system that favors them not.

You see what you could be but not what

Has been (a beauty unlike words could relate)

Or what will be of your machinations.219

So flounder, why so not, you shan't cease so,

I will stay in my shack of peaceful accord

And you have stay in your shack amidst the flames."

My guides nodded in frank approval then,

My acceptance of their wisdom a standard

Proud and tall above the ghosts of this realm.

Creon walked to me, not before giving Trotsky

The lash of his backhand against his cheek.

He took my hand and led me down that road.

"Keep in tow," said content Creon, pridefully,

"I and the Great Leader's time has past the clock

Of earthly matters and our reign no longer.

Down here in the fissure of humanity,

Brashness is king and Ignorance the subjects.

Make no fair mistake, Paradise is home.

For you; for us, that remains to be realized.

Heaven is for the virtuous Servant

And the Ruler who ruled with virtue too."

Stalin caught up to our walking speed,

Leaving a fevered two shades yelling

At our trail of dust, indignant at their loss.

I endeavored forward with assurance,

To ascend something higher than freedom,

Beyond that which never breathes but rants of Life,

Under those three suns of Oblivion,

There lay more twisted sins at the bottom,

That chasm of Earth from where-forth none return.

For Death is the Road to Life forever.

Notes

{All} In an attempt to blend the fantastical with reality, Creon serves as a guide alongside the epitome of single-handed rulership, Josef Stalin. Both are fitting figures for what is the contrasting force that plagued their life, externally and internally. After World War II, Stalin brought about the return of the Church to state status, as was traditional back in the Tzarist era, amongst other returns to form that elevated Russia into a burgeoning superpower with extraordinary productivity and organization. Where Stalin could be pictured as cold and calculating, Creon is an impassioned and blunt leader, whose temper led to his demise. While each is flawed in their own way, they represent the best traits as well of what comes of absolute dedication to a country.

3-6 The mountains are the institutions and establishments that have stood the test against time, but through man-made devices, they can be humbled, and what took a long time to grow cannot be rebuilt in a matter of days. Blood is the result of sacrifice, and from sacrifice comes benefits that come to those who played their cards right. Of the first Biblical illusions is the lushness of the mountains as it was in Eden, the Earth-laden kingdom that was destroyed by Man's arrogance and lack of trust in the dominating power.

5-8, 35-50 Their punishment is their greatest pastime. Over and over, the shades will ruin these mountains and, lacking a foundation will erect one of their, however worthless the attempt. The irony is in their self-assured outlook that what they may replace the mountains with will be inadequate for they lack the experience of countless generations of power and justification. In life, they destroyed that which gave them life; in death they continue to tear down their only source of shade and food. And they don't realize how much strife could've been spared the people they led against their benefactors. Their lack of regret symbolizes their zealous perspective on their self-righteous actions against what they thought an oppressive and completely negative force, unaware that they are simply becoming what they overthrew, sans the ability to lead anything more than a violent mob.

25-27, 79-90. Loki, being the God of Mischief, is the sole incarnation of Anarchy and flimsy alignments. He is worse than a joker or trickster, for he regularly double-crosses both sides. And in the "End," that being Ragnarok, the End of All Things in Norse mythology, he fights against the Gods, the ones who gave him numberless chances to live, despite having outlived his welcome a long time ago. Being chained to a rock, poisoned and naked, he seethed in hatred for getting his just desserts, and initiated his plan of revenge. Here, in Hell, he is so chaotic he can't even hold the authority to watch over this place. Instead, he just encourages more of the same behavior and relishing in it.

70-72, {Onwards}, The second Christian allusion is to the straight path, which features briefly in the beginning of Dante's Inferno. Whatever God or Jesus may choose for you, it becomes paramount above all else, which is dangerous to consider as more secure or beneficial to your long-standing destination, be it salvation or a recognition of what's maleficent. In the journey through Hell, Stalin and Creon act in place of God, making sure that the Pilgrim adheres to the straight path, no matter what may threaten to deter him. As a substitute for Providence, the guides are enacting the exemplar deeds of a leader. Caring, concerned, gentle and understanding without the messy reputations that comes with gulags and executions of family members. Indeed, such a God-directed act of quality guidance and leadership may be exactly what the two need in order to ascend Paradise alongside the Pilgrim.

{Throughout}, The Infernal distortion of the Trinity is the placement of the three suns, each standing for a stage of State or Revolution. Additionally, the sun looks different depending from which direction you're looking from. Perspective is what drives the metaphor of these suns, and how they affect the people below. When the guides see them, they are the stages from which an Empire is destroyed and disaster is the law. The Bolsheviks see them as final reminders of what they sought to eliminate and erase from the memories of those they "freed." Though the problem is, without the shade that the trees atop the mountains provide, the agenda is smothered by the Suns, which watch over all activity in this Circle.

154-222, 229-237, Lenin and Trotsky engage the Pilgrim in a jousting match of his real motivation and that what he really needs, he will not get it from his guides. As a frame reference, Lenin was familiar with Stalin before he died, and Lenin strongly opposed how much power Stalin had garnered. While they shared many of the same ideas that shaped the Soviet Union, the two differed in that, at heart Lenin knew only how to destroy a government, but not how to lead a country. Stalin would face hardships that would leave a lesser-prepared nation crippled, yet because he held all the power and because he knew what to do with that power, he channeled more Tzarism than a writer who was supposedly on the same level of the workers. Stalin never fooled the people into thinking that equality was for more anyone but those on the lower rungs who could contribute effectively to the war effort, the re-building effort or the propaganda effort. The pilgrim sees that his loyalty must lie with those who can advance his life and the fulfillment of the one who even these great leaders are now working for. In saying that he would rather "stay in my shack of peaceful accord," than "stay in your shack amidst the flames," he states rather clearly that, while luxury or anything above a Spartan comfort is not in his future, he can rely on the goodwill on his superiors to keep him safe from harm. The Bolsheviks' argument pretty much boils down to an appeal to the selfish nature of an individual against the illusion of unity in chaos, which the Pilgrim should have outgrown at this point in his journey; that, and they also attack his guides, thus penetrating his confidence in himself. Because, if he cannot trust his guides, he cannot trust himself, being of — for the time being — subordinate comprehension. Finally, after observing what he would be leaving his guides for, — because, remember, he unlike the shades can see and understand what is going on in this circle — he leaves them with a counter on their own self-inflicted situation, restoring his strong bonds of camaraderie with his guides, who, being essentially shades themselves, point out that in death they are now true equals and that that equality shall be fully realized in Heaven.

8-9, 143, 154, A subtle layer of irony is present in that Creon, with a fairly Athenian view of women is contrasted by Stalin, who promoted women's rights in a land where women were, historically, already much more asserted than in most other places in the world, like America, to name an example. Also, the mentioning of Trotsky as "Semitic" is a slight jab at his hatred towards Tzarist Russia for what he perceived to be an injustice and suppression of the Jewish people. The massacres of the Church and Cossaks were managed primarily by Trotsky for retribution, in a twist of fate that ended up with a Jewish-sentimental mass murder. "Previet" is Russian for "hello" or "greetings."


End file.
